For the seventh day straight, he’d awoken gazing into that memory. Sunlight poured through the window onto Seren’s cheek. He tried to scrub the gore from his mind, but it stubbornly remained. It wasn’t a nightmare. Rande was dead. He shut the window blinds, covering the room in darkness.

A knocking on the window stirred him from his musings.

“Seren, are you home?”

He mouthed a curse before pulling open the blinds. Light once again flooded into the room. “Yeah, I’m home.”

“Good. Come outside, or you’ll miss the fair.”

Seren threw on a waistcoat and some boots and headed outside. Eleanor met him at the door.

“Come on,” she urged him, “we’ll be late for the flying man.”

Seren didn’t cross the threshold. “I don’t think I’m ready for something like this yet.”

“When will you be ready then?”

“Christ, Eleanor. It’s only been a week since he died, and you already want to act as though it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to forget. I want to move on.” She sighed. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“I guess so.”

They set off down the cobbled street towards the fair. Houses of differing sizes cropped up in a dense arrangement to either side of the road. Their faded rooftop colours varied constantly. Here was blue, then red, now a pale green, and so the washed-out rainbow continued. The streets were barren to begin with, but they soon encountered more people as they drew closer to the fair, like a river that grows fuller as it nears the ocean. The sounds of merriment grew louder. Seren smiled wistfully.

Their mouths watered from the smell of roast nuts and cooked meats as they entered the fair grounds. A faint layer of smoke clouded the air. Merchants hollered from under narrow tents, making it known that their goods were the best. Seren and Eleanor squeezed through the crowds, passing under performers atop great wooden legs. A golden jet of flame shot through the air above them. The stilt-walkers hurled abuse at the firebreather responsible. Eleanor dragged Seren down a side alley away from the commotion, stumbling upon an aisle of food vendors. The temptation of a hot meal became irresistible.

“Would you two young’uns care for a pork sausage?” The man offering them waved a sausage around on a metal fork. He was fat and balding, with a toothy grin that stretched from cheek to cheek. He’d evidently eaten too much of his own food.

“We’d love a sausage each,” Eleanor said.

“Excellent. That’ll be two pounds per sausage.”

She held out six pounds.

He gave her a strange look. “Will you be wanting two or three sausages, Miss?”

Eleanor looked around her. “Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Just two please.”

“Thanks,” Seren said, digging his teeth into the scorching meat. Its rich flavour delighted his mouth.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Don’t thank me,” Eleanor replied, “you’ll be paying for us to get into the circus.”

They came upon a giant circus tent, decorated with a pattern of gold and blue stripes that fell majestically from the pinnacle of its roof. A sign stood beside the entrance that introduced it as the home of such wonders as The Flying Man and The Deadly Lion. Next to the sign, a tall, heavily-built man in a grey coat collected the entry fee from circus-goers.

Seren’s faith in humanity waivered upon seeing the entry-fee. “Five pounds a person! That’s extortion.”

“Hence why you're paying.”

He begrudgingly handed over ten pounds. “Not cheap, is it,” he muttered, but the doorman chose to ignore it. They entered the circus tent.

The stands formed a giant ring of spectators overlooking a circular patch of sand. In the centre of the ring, a showman in a pretentious top hat announced the upcoming acts. Eleanor and Seren found a seat. First came the two-headed dog, limping on the sand as it was led around on a leather leash. A kick in the side set it straight after it started barking. Later, the crowd applauded as the snake whisper laid five reptiles in a trance with a tune on his flute. But it was The Flying Man that the masses had come to see, and when he finally arrived, the crowd grew wild as the circus animals.

The Flying Man was dressed in a garish red leotard that dazzled the eyes. He climbed a tall ladder, arriving at a narrow wooden platform suspended high in the air. Two wooden bars were suspended by metal wires in the air beyond the platform, just far enough away so that one had to jump to reach them. Fitting for his name, The Flying Man resembled a small bird atop his perch. Then the bird took flight. He jumped, grabbing hold of the wooden bar as he did so. In a dangerous manoeuvre he let go of the bar, flipping himself backwards as he soared upwards through the air. He gripped the bar again on the way down, using the momentum to propel himself back towards the platform. He let go and flew through the air back to solid ground. But he didn’t fly far enough. The chest of the Flying Man landed with a heavy thud onto the platform. His legs dangled over the edge.

The crowd cheered this new, exciting part of the act. They clung to their seats as The Flying Man slowly slipped from the platform, like a viscous drop of honey. His hands scrambled for purchase. His legs flailed wildly through the air. Seren wondered if the bird’s red suit would blend in with his blood. But he never got the chance to find out. The flying man dug his fingers into a gap between the planks. He managed to halt the flow of his body from the platform and pull himself back up.

Somebody screamed outside the tent. Seren couldn’t imagine why. But another scream joined the first, which seemed to be a tipping point, sending the entire fair into a chorus ofshrieking.

“Everybody stay calm, just remain in your seats,” the showman said. It was in vain; the panic had infected the circus-goers too. People burst past Seren, trampling him in their hurry to escape. He took cover beneath the stands, and Eleanor followed suit. Soon the screaming grew distant, and they found themselves alone in the circus tent. Until a group of armed men entered.

“Come with us, quickly,” one of them commanded, “it’s not safe here.”

“What’s happening out there?” Seren questioned.

“Time is scarce right now, we’ll explain later.”

They dutifully exited the tent under the protection of the guards. Once outside, they passed behind a wall of more make shift soldiers. They had knives and pitchforks, all bared pathetically towards something in front of them.

“Stay back, murderer!”

The thing beyond the human barricade emitted an inhuman sound like the screech of a dying animal. In the gaps between soldiers Seren could make out a dark figure. It was hunched over a small shape, hard to make out. It lifted its head from its meal and stared at the massing of soldiers. Its eyes were glazed and solid white. Its face was Rande’s, but soaked in blood. Seren vomited.

“Oh, God!” A couple of the soldiers driftedbackwards as Rande charged them, like seaweed in awave. But a few rocks held their position against the oncoming assailant, weapons in hand. Hecrashed against the pitchforks, letting out a moan as one pierced his gut.

“Rande, what’s happened to you!” Eleanor pushed through the line of soldiers. “You’re alive!”

Rande gurgled, groping at the prongs embedded in his stomach. His eyes turned to Eleanor. And they hated. He tore himself from the pitchfork, rending his stomach into bloody shreds of tissue. Someone buried a knife in his upper torso. Rande wailed and took off, leaving a dark red trail behind him. Eleanor vomited when she saw what he’d been devouring. A small girl stared at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Her torso, or rather, what was left of it, rose and fell with each of her laboured breaths. Crimson streams trickled from the lake in her chest, pouring with renewed vigour after each heartbeat. Eleanor looked away.